


Obligatory body swap fic but the labyrinthian nightmare tracks of their trains of thought make the trolley problem look like child's play

by CardiacCrisis



Series: Excellent Prognostics [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Body Swap, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Missing Scene, Other, SO MUCH BANTER, Soft and Fluffy, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardiacCrisis/pseuds/CardiacCrisis
Summary: It's the night after the failed Apocalypse, and the two occult/ethereal beings responsible (?) for it are left with a single clue from a long-dead witch. It's the only thing between them and what's likely to be a very permanent death.But Aziraphale and Crowley can't stay on topic to save their conditionally immortal lives.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Excellent Prognostics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663876
Comments: 24
Kudos: 74





	Obligatory body swap fic but the labyrinthian nightmare tracks of their trains of thought make the trolley problem look like child's play

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been a big Discworld fan, and I'm sure I read Good Omens at some point long ago, but I read most of the books I've read in high school, when I devoured them ceaselessly one after another. So I didn't remember much of it, but I was excited when I heard the mini-series was going to come out soon. I re-read the book before it came out, and then the TV series knocked me off my feet and the fandom was creating SO MUCH marvelous content that I could just read and look at art night and day (and I did!). And I finally had an idea for a fic I wanted very much to write, and I started writing it, and then realized... I had developed so many little headcanons for the husbands, especially for their body swap / the night after the failed apocalypse, that the fic might not make a ton of sense without it. So I stopped and wrote the obligatory body swap fic that I'd been trying to avoid writing (because I'm very slow at writing)! Started it in December and here it finally is. Hope you enjoy!

A country bus is headed, presumably, from Tadfield to Oxford, while also somehow crossing through London. Considering that Armageddon was slated for today, this fact shouldn't have been remarkable at all among the rest of the madness. And it wasn't, not to the two supernatural entities gripping hands on the third row. The additional transit time for the other passengers was a small price to pay for the world, they figured. The five humans (and the elderly chihuahua) on the bus made no complaint, which in and of itself was miraculous, and not even intentionally so.

"Thank you for the invitation, Crowley. It means a lot to me." Aziraphale sat in a narrow, molded plastic bucket seat with a demon's clammy hand in his, and yet his voice was full of wonder.

Crowley was still a little crispy around the edges from his trip across the M25, and damp with stress sweat, so it took him a few moments to manage speech. The warmth of Aziraphale's gentle hand on his own helped. "'Course. …Means a lot to me too. Y'know. Or at least you _should_ know. That you can, mghrm, always stay at my place. If you like."

"Oh, Crowley. You know the reverse is true of course, even though-"

The spectre of the bookshop hung between them, crushing some of the elation that had been bubbling up in their chests. Crowley bravely squeezed Aziraphale's hand in an attempt to offer comfort, and the ends of Aziraphale's lips turned back upwards in a watery smile.

"Dear, you're my best friend. Don't ever doubt that."

The blatant fondness in Aziraphale's voice sent the warmest of fuzzies through Crowley's heart. "And you're _my_ best friend. So you'll never be rid of me."

"I'd never want to. And you've seen that even the Apocalypse wasn't enough to rid you of this fussy old angel, so I'm quite sure nothing else will manage it either."

Crowley turned his face downwards towards his own lap, but nothing could hide the wide and delighted grin on his face at the thought.

Aziraphale caught sight of the smile and beamed, glad to have chased away some of the fear and apprehension clouding Crowley's expression.

Emboldened by Aziraphale's words, Crowley carefully said, "Really like the thought of that. Just you and me. On our side. With all the humans, 'course. And the ducks. And, y'know, everything else too, yeah. Just. Doing our own thing. Together. For the foreseeable future. Er. Not like before, though, not any of the wiling or, or the thwarting. Just like," he made complex and jabby hand-motions in the air, and Aziraphale must have felt he understood, because he nodded.

"Yes, of course! Casual meetings, you mean. Not… business meetings. No negotiations. Just… just for fun. Because we want to." A faint blush dusted Aziraphale's cheeks. "No excuses necessary."

"Yes! Exactly, exactly right." He grinned. "No need to get yourself caught by bloody revolutionaries just for a candlelit crêpe date any more. Pretty 'tickety-boo', wouldn't you say, angel?"

Aziraphale flushed in earnest, but as usual, he refused to admit or deny the affectionate accusation. Instead, he studied the hand in his. Crowley's skin was clean, but Aziraphale knew that those long and bony hands had been very recently darkened by soot, sweat, and soil. His gaze rose to examine the lines of Crowley's face around the dark sunglasses, and not even the hope and amusement currently brightening his expression could overwrite the exhaustion tinting every bit of his being.

Aziraphale used his free hand to gently pat what he presumed was one of Crowley's knees. "You look like you could use a nap, dear boy. And you certainly deserve it after all your valor today. Why don't you go ahead? There's still plenty a ways to go. I'll keep watch."

Any sulkiness Crowley may have felt at failing to look perfectly cool and composed was overridden by the warmth in Aziraphale's voice and hands, especially since that warmth was meant especially for him. The concept of Aziraphale watching over him as he slept hit Crowley like a train. Aziraphale guarding him from any threats just as he defended his bookshop from unworthy customers? Like he was precious and fascinating and irreplaceable? It was a thought that made euphoria bubble in his veins.

Crowley made a few vowel-free and sibilant-heavy attempts at speech, then took a deep breath. "Yeah. Alright. Yeah. I'd like that."

Aziraphale smiled, enamoured by the quiet joy in Crowley's voice. Then he remembered their respective employers, or rather, ex-employers. "Though I do fear that it's only a matter of time before Hea- …before our former employers try for revenge."

Crowley sighed. The thought had been on his mind too. "They've got some explaining to do, but they're not going to wait too long either. For my money, they'll strike sometime between tomorrow aaand… the 22nd century."

"Hmm, that's a bit of a while away, isn't it? We just started the 21st century only a couple of years ago, didn't we?"

"We're about a fifth of the way through the century, yes," said Crowley, his voice full of affectionate patience.

"Golly," said Aziraphale. "Well, I'm fairly certain that neither Upstairs nor Downstairs will move against us tonight." His thumb brushed along Crowley's hand for a few moments, though even he wasn't sure whether it was more for Crowley's comfort, or his own.

Now that Crowley had given himself permission to relax, the gentle touches and the warm aura of the angel at his side were already lulling him to sleep. His eyelids drooped behind his sunglasses.

"Mnk. S'pose you're right. Not likely they're going to come after us right now. They've gotta stop all of it, all the angels and demons, explain to them that they're not going to fight after all. Don't envy them that, but it serves them all right. Bastards, the lot of them." Crowley gave the bird to both heaven and hell while he was at it. "Wake me if you sense any trouble though, I've still got a little fight in me left."

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand reassuringly. "I think you're right about them being too busy. But at the slightest sign of anything to the contrary, I'll be sure to wake you, dear. Now settle down and get a little rest, it'll do you some good."

"Some bad, you mean," Crowley retorted, but his heart wasn't in it. He yawned, then coiled into a position only a soft-bodied invertebrate should be able to tolerate. He braced what looked like a shin against the armrest while his other foot rested atop the seat in front of Aziraphale. He wrapped his left arm around himself tightly enough that he effectively gave himself a hug. The hand in the angel's grip, however, didn't move a muscle. Then Crowley's head dropped forwards at a 90° angle and he fell asleep almost immediately, a soft hiss escaping him.

Affection bubbled powerfully in Aziraphale's breast, like a shaken champagne bottle only a split-second away from bursting. With it was a protective instinct that burned more brightly and urgently than ever before. Carefully, so as to not wake the sleeping demon, Aziraphale lifted one of his wings up and over Crowley's shoulders. When it shimmered slowly into the third dimension, it was wrapped loosely around him, a bright shield of ethereal feathers hiding him from the world.

Even mostly unconscious, Crowley took a deep breath and sighed, relaxing in a way that made his limbs droop bonelessly. Aziraphale gave Crowley's hand another gentle squeeze. He knew he ought to be thinking about how they could escape the retribution from Heaven and Hell for their part in stopping the Apocalypse. The scrap of paper Aziraphale had picked up at the air base held a clue from Agnes, though he wasn't sure what she meant by choosing his face wisely.

But as the bus rolled towards London, Aziraphale found himself instead lost in memories of previous encounters with Crowley throughout history, with the thrilling thought of perhaps never again needing an excuse to spend time with his favorite person in all of creation.

* * *

"Oh, I do think we're here, Crowley. This _is_ your flat, isn't it?"

Aziraphale had never actually visited Crowley's Mayfair flat before, but he knew more or less where it was and the Brutalist concrete monstrosity they had stopped at certainly looked the part.

Crowley stirred sleepily at the sound of Aziraphale's voice, turning towards him with a little wordless noise. Aziraphale was suddenly very glad that this was the first time he had ever witnessed Crowley waking up, because it was sparking the full strength of the powerful protective instinct in his soul. His wing curled around Crowley a little more securely, and the demon murmured something unintelligible and settled closer to Aziraphale's side.

In that moment, Aziraphale wished dearly that he could borrow Crowley's time-stopping powers and allow his demon to get his fill of sleep and comfort right there before having to wake. But just as Aziraphale was skilled at ignoring the passage of time, the passage of time likewise ignored his pleas. Reluctantly, Aziraphale folded his wing back into its usual pocket dimension. Crowley groaned at the sudden draft.

"Crowley dear, we really ought to get a wiggle on. You can have another nap once we're inside."

The demon's eyes peered up sleepily at the angel's face over the rim of his dark glasses. White sclera slowly constricted around his yellow irises as he woke up and remembered to be humanoid. Aziraphale tutted, a little disappointed that Crowley was hiding the lovely golden hue of his eyes.

"Mmm, alright, alright. I'm up, awake." He adjusted his glasses, then reluctantly straightened out his limbs. Aziraphale, still holding his hand, helped him get his footing.

Crowley attempted to pay the bus driver, only to find out that his wallet was charred beyond recognition.

"I'll pay this time, dear," said Aziraphale, dropping a small deluge of coins into the farebox. None of the coins have been accepted currency since the industrial revolution, but most of them were now worth quite a lot more than what they'd been minted for. The sight of it made Crowley smile, tired but incredibly fond.

The bus turned towards Oxford as Crowley led Aziraphale into his flat. The minimalist and too-modern decor was highly distasteful to Aziraphale's sensibilities, but the suite was also rich in the intoxicating scent of Crowley's magic, and that was enough to endear the place to him. Though there was a horrible stench above it right now, acrid and unpleasant-

"Watch your step," said Crowley, as he halted them a few feet away from a nasty puddle on the floor. "That's what's left of Ligur. Thank you for the holy water, by the way."

"Oh good Lord," said Aziraphale, his voice tinted with horror. Then he realized that the ex-demon in question must have been trying to kill Crowley. "On second thought, good _riddance_." He snapped, and the floor returned to its previous pristine state.

Crowley stared at the floor for a minute, then at Aziraphale.

"Don't fuss," said the angel. "Let's get you on the couch for a bit, I'm going to make sure there's not a drop of that wretched holy water left there to hurt you."

Still a little shell-shocked, Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to the couch and agreeably sat down, though he grumbled when Aziraphale let go of his hand.

Aziraphale patted his shoulder, then stepped into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Crowley discovered that if he draped himself along his couch just so, he could watch Aziraphale puttering around, and the familiarity of it was comforting. When Aziraphale returned with a cup of tea (decaffeinated, just in case) and some biscuits, he found Crowley hanging half off the couch. The beam of the angel's resulting smile almost knocked Crowley off the couch entirely, but he managed to sit back down in a much more humanoid manner after only a few seconds of struggle.

Once Crowley was settled on the sofa, which had become several degrees softer and less fashionable in Aziraphale's presence, Crowley was given the cup of tea and the plate of biscuits.

" _Angel_ ," he whined, "after all we've been through today, I was expecting something a lot stronger than _tea_."

The look Aziraphale gave him had no sympathy in it. "Absolutely not. If you start drinking, you won't want to take a nap, and we'll both need to be rested and clear-headed to figure out what we're going to do now that we've been declared traitors."

Crowley grimaced. "Guess you're right." He took a sip of tea, and found that it did help, a little.

When Aziraphale returned from cleaning up the office and laughing delightedly at the opulent ridiculousness of Crowley's throne, he found his demon staring sleepily into his empty teacup.

"Angel, do you really think we have enough time for another nap?"

"Yes, we do," said Aziraphale, with such certainty that Crowley couldn't help but believe it.

"Well, alright." Crowley fidgeted for a moment. "Er… Wkh. Uhh, I guess I'll just go, umm, to bed then. I have some emergency backup books for you in the office, y'know, just in case, so yeah. Always more tea in the kitchen. Couch is here. Not as comfy as yours but I can fix that for you-"

"There's no need for that, Crowley. I don't plan to stay on the couch, though I would appreciate a book or two if you have them."

Crowley stared. "Not on the couch? Er, the office then?"

"No, not there either. I'd prefer to be close by while you sleep, simply as a precaution."

"Ah. A precaution." Crowley pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. "Right then-"

"No, wait," Aziraphale interrupted. "Let me try this again."

One of Crowley's eyebrows raised up high above the lens. "Yeah?"

"Yes.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, one technically unnecessary, but helpful for his nerves. “What I _meant_ is that I'd prefer to be close by while you sleep because then it will be easier for me to keep you safe, and because I am happier by your side."

"Wh- whuh? Wngh. Angel?!" Crowley sputtered.

Aziraphale just smiled at him, which was usually enough to scramble Crowley's mental circuits on its own. The softness of his gaze was too much, and Crowley had to physically turn away while he tried to reboot.

Aziraphale waited patiently for a little while, then held out his hands expectantly. Not one to deny his angel anything, even when trying to get his rioting heart back into his corporation where it belonged, Crowley automatically took off his sunglasses and handed them over.

Aziraphale stared at the expensive glasses in his hands, then broke out into delighted laughter. "Oh Crowley, I was actually hoping to hold your hand again. But I'll be happy to hold onto these for you while you sleep." He very carefully put the glasses into an inner pocket in his coat and gave it a gentle pat.

Then Aziraphale offered his hands again. "Come now, show me to your bedroom. Surely you have one?"

Crowley, unshielded and trembling a little from emotion and exhaustion, just nodded. He placed his hand onto Aziraphale's palm, watching as the angel's other hand settled on top. Warmth soaked into Crowley's hand and up his arm, and he felt a little better, enough to look up into Aziraphale's worried face.

"Dear me," breathed Aziraphale, struck by the depth of emotion in Crowley's eyes. He settled the top hand on Crowley's cheek instead, a faint smile on his face when Crowley automatically leaned into the warmth of his palm, eyes slipping shut.

He looked at Crowley for a moment, then stepped forward and swept his demon into a tight hug. "Oh Crowley, I'm so glad you're alright! And that you're here— with me!"

"Angel," Crowley breathed, then he melted into Aziraphale's embrace, marveling at the warmth and softness of his skin and the faint suggestion of solid muscle as he was held close. His arms drifted upwards to wrap around Aziraphale, and only in that moment did the smell of burning books finally clear from his mind.

Aziraphale refused to let go until Crowley's trembling slowed to a stop and his aura stopped feeling like a short-circuiting livewire. He gave Crowley a little squeeze.

"Let's get you to bed, we'll worry about the rest later."

"Thought you said to rest now," Crowley said sleepily, but Aziraphale had moved to carefully pick him up off the couch.

Crowley's eyes opened wide, and he looked up at Aziraphale with naked surprise and confusion and delight. Aziraphale smiled indulgently back, effortlessly settling Crowley into a bridal carry.

"I hope you don't mind me taking this liberty, Crowley, but I fear that if you don't have your nap now, we may end up spending all night tripping over our feelings while you're half discorporated from exhaustion."

Crowley hid his flushed face with his hands and Aziraphale chuckled.

"Ah, Crowley, you're not quite dressed for bed. Would you mind if I…?"

That only made Crowley blush more, and he made several attempts at a protest, even raising a hand to snap, but Aziraphale shook his head.

"No dear, I'd like to do this for you, if you don't mind. A little miracle. I know you're exhausted."

Crowley might have still protested out of general principle, but Aziraphale had moved to cradle him with only one arm to free his right hand for a snap, and the display of easy strength had Crowley swooning. Then Aziraphale's miracle took hold, and Crowley's clothes were transformed into the softest pair of flannel pyjamas.

Aziraphale wrapped both arms around him again. With the scent of Aziraphale's magic, the warmth of angel's body against his, and the secure hold of strong arms around him, the real miracle was that Crowley didn't spontaneously combust. Were demons really allowed to feel this good?

Just to be a little contrary, and to try to downplay the fact that his ridiculous, unnecessary heart was full to bursting, Crowley said, "Really, angel? Tartan?"

"Yes," answered Aziraphale. "It's about time you get to wear my tartan."

And so Crowley hid his face in his hands a little longer, flustered at the thought of Aziraphale dressing him in his personal pattern.

Aziraphale found his way into Crowley's bedroom, and thankfully did not enter the plant room to do so, because Crowley knew the plants might never respect him again after witnessing him swooning in the arms of his beloved. He expected the angel to place him onto the bed and take a seat on the armchair beside it. Instead, Aziraphale sat on Crowley's bed, still holding him close, and pulled the sheets over them both.

"I'm not convinced that you'll warm up enough for an effective nap on your own any time soon," Aziraphale explained, "and to be quite honest, I would be greatly comforted myself to know that you are recovering properly.” After another deep breath, he added, “Also, I've always wanted to hold you in my arms ever since I saw you tap-dancing to my rescue in that church. If I hadn't been a coward, I would have picked you up then."

That pulled a dreamy grin out of Crowley at the thought. "If you hadn't been a coward, we would have both gotten discorporated right then. No way I could’ve gotten my wits together if you’d been holding me then." He gathered his courage, then settled himself more comfortably in Aziraphale's arms.

When Aziraphale smiled, Crowley experimented with putting his arms around Aziraphale's soft middle. It was truly luxurious, and even more so when Aziraphale cradled Crowley a little closer with a bright hum. Warmth soaked into Crowley's bones and he marveled. Lying on top of Aziraphale's chest and belly and lap was exponentially more comfortable than Crowley's beloved couch back at the bookshop, as much as he has mourned it and will mourn it once he had enough energy for a proper moment. And the familiar and enchanting scent of Aziraphale certainly helped take his mind off the bookshop. There was a little dust mixed into the fabric of Aziraphale's well-loved waistcoat, and the familiar aroma of old books, along with Aziraphale's latest cologne, the soft musk of his corporation, and the almost spicy scent of his feathers like a garnish on top of it all.

Crowley took in several slow, deep breaths, mouth half-open and tongue hanging slightly out of it, trying to internalize Aziraphale's scent. Aziraphale smiled helplessly, watching Crowley fall asleep almost immediately in his arms. His demon was lanky, but graceful even when unconscious, his body draped perfectly around Aziraphale's form, matching his curves with the boneless grace of his serpentine form. The solid weight of Crowley was soothing as well, along with the movement of his chest as he slept, with the tiniest bit of a hiss as a snore.

It amused Aziraphale greatly that Crowley's eyes were still half-open even while he was soundly asleep. He hadn't been able to see his eyes while on the bus, but it seemed that closed eyelids were just as unnecessary for Crowley in sleep as they were for his mortal snakey brethren. Aziraphale peered into the hypnotic honeyed depths of his irises and the inky black of his pupils for a little while, memorizing the colors and structure of them like he studied the illuminated characters of his favorite manuscripts. His wings materialized onto the mortal plane then, to enclose them both into a bubble of protection.

 _When alle is sayed and all is done, ye must choose your faces wiseley, for soon enouff ye will be playing with Fyre_ , Agnes' last surviving prophecy said.

Oh, Aziraphale would certainly prefer to choose Crowley's face to play with, to trace his thumbs over those lovely cheekbones and brush his fingers along the edge of his jaw and press kisses down the length of his nose. As often as Crowley changed his look with the human seasons, this face of his was a constant, even through the occasional application of cosmetics or facial hair. While Aziraphale was fully aware that this was only a feature of Crowley's corporation, and that the demon could change it at any moment, he couldn't help but be fond of this sharp and handsome face anyways.

As for the fire, Aziraphale strongly suspected that Agnes was referring to hellfire. It was the only thing that could destroy him completely, after all, and it couldn't be a coincidence that _he_ had received the message about fire instead of Crowley. Fire wasn't much of a threat to Crowley, and especially not hellfire. Crowley's face, and all of his corporation, was immune to it, it was in his nature. Just as holy water was nothing to Aziraphale, while it could turn Crowley into less than a smear. And Aziraphale was certain holy water was in the cards for Crowley, especially after he had used it on a fellow demon.

If only he could take Crowley's place, and play it off all suave like it was just a refreshing splash on a hot day, while the would-be executioners stared in shock and horror. But while Aziraphale could possess a receptive human, there was no way he could possess a demon.

Or could he?

Well, perhaps he could. But would it be enough? Or could possessing Crowley's body make Aziraphale vulnerable to holy water? Or, alternately, would Crowley's corporation still dissolve around him and leave Aziraphale there, bodiless and unmistakably not the demon they had been after?

Aziraphale carefully rearranged the sleeping demon's position in order to free one of his arms. There was no practical way to scribble on paper while in bed with Crowley slumbering on top of him, so Aziraphale simply tugged one of his looser feathers free and started to write in the air. He had a lot of metaphysical equations to get through if he wanted to make sure this would work.

* * *

"So you're saying that if we swapped corporations that we would most likely survive their attempts at killing us?" Crowley should've been more alarmed at the thought of executions, but right now he was on his bed, held securely in Aziraphale's arms against his chest, and shielded from the world by a pair of giant fluffy wings, all while Aziraphale looked down into his eyes with a smile playing on his lips.

"Almost," said Aziraphale. "These corporations we have now may have been standard issue in the beginning, but after being worn continuously for 6000 years by the same supernatural entities, they're a little different now."

Crowley pictured himself in Aziraphale's corporation and didn't know how to feel about the concept. "Different how?"

"Well, they're sort of _infused_ with our essences." Aziraphale wiggled his fingers dramatically to better convey his point. "To every sense, mundane and supernatural, these corporations are _us_. In fact, I suspect that if we just left our corporations somewhere, without us actually being in them, our bosses would still think those were us. Well, at least until the bodies failed to respond to any stimulus."

Crowley was paying attention, he really was. But also his cheek was against Aziraphale's collarbone and he was basking in the warmth and heat of his body. And Crowley had long wondered why Aziraphale's spine always looked to be at a higher temperature than the rest of him, and the answer was a patch of what felt like down between the angel's wings, and Crowley couldn't help but dream of what that might feel like directly against his fingers. So perhaps it took longer than it should've for him to respond. "Okay. So I just wear your corporation and you wear mine and we pretend to be each other? Just like I said earlier?"

"Partially, yes, but if that was _all_ we did, then the deception would last all the way until your snake eyes showed through my corporation, or my scar showed through yours. And even ignoring that, a human corporation, even one so stuffed to the brim with angelic essence that it would perfectly hide a demonic aura, simply won't be enough to protect you from actual holy water, according to my equations."

Crowley's eyebrows raised up high. "Is that right? Then what do you propose we do, Professor Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale made a noise that was supposed to be disapproval at the joke, but Crowley was pressed close enough that he could feel the angel's little shimmy of delight, and it was _lovely_.

"We'll have to trade not just our mortal bodies, but our halos too." He looked pleased at having developed this neat little solution to their current problem.

"Our halos?" drawled Crowley.

Chuffed at the fact that he would get to teach the wiliest of serpents a new trick, Aziraphale straightened his bow tie and put on his most teacher-y voice.

"We're a little like those Russian nesting dolls, you know, the Matryoshka. On the outside is the human body. Just inside that is our immortal body— well, metaphorically, I mean, not literally, because otherwise where would our internal organs go?— the bit that walks around Heaven or Hell when we don't have a human body. And our halos are wrapped around our immortal bodies– _usually_. You see, if we trade our human bodies only, we'd still be vulnerable. But if we trade both our human bodies _and_ our halos, that's enough to hide and protect our immortal selves from danger."

"Don't you mean it the other way around? That we've got to trade only our immortal bodies, leaving behind our human bodies and halos?"

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. "Crowley, that amounts to exactly the same thing."

"No it doesn't,” he insisted, “not unless we're both swapping the same things. Like what if you're coming at me with your immortal body and I'm trying to give you my halo, then we end up with four bodies and two halos smashed together like, like some sort of monstrous Frankenstein creature-"

"Oh!" said Aziraphale, impressed. "You've read Shelley, Crowley? I'm surprised, I thought you didn't read?"

"NO! I have _not_ read Shelley," hissed Crowley in a tone that was too defensive to be believable. "I watched the _movie!"_

"Alright, alright," said Aziraphale. "Now is hardly the time to be discussing literature, anyways."

Crowley frowned. "Wait a second, hold up. I'm bloody well going to need a little more detail than that, angel. Especially since you told me earlier that we would _probably explode_ if you inhabited my body. What's going to make this any safer?"

"Well, think of it this way, Crowley." Aziraphale examined his fingernails. "Either we slightly risk a little explosion by swapping faces as the prophecy suggests —and need I remind you that all of them have been 100% correct so far?— or we face certain death in our own bodies."

A little hiss of defeat. "Guess you're right. Wouldn't fancy exploding though. Awfully messy, explosions."

Aziraphale's expression softened as he looked down at the demon in his arms. "I'm fairly sure it won't come to that. I don't think angels and demons are really so different after all. Not after everything that happened today. And…"

He hesitated, and Crowley looked up with his yellow eyes, always so curious. Aziraphale took great comfort from his demon's gaze and smiled. "And I really think we're going to be okay. I have faith."

"In Her?"

"In us."

Crowley broke out into an affectionate grin. "That's very inspiring, angel. Still going to point out that you didn't actually say 'no' though."

Aziraphale sniffed. "Don't be difficult, I just didn't want to be gauche about bringing up our employers."

"Ex-employers," insisted Crowley. Then he remembered something.

"Wait, what scar?"

"Scar?"

"You mentioned it earlier angel, your scar. The one I'll need to borrow. When we swap faces."

"Oh," said Aziraphale. "Right, I suppose you've never had the occasion to see it. It's on my calf. Not particularly impressive, but I suppose I've generally been wearing clothing long enough to cover it."

Crowley's eyebrows drew together, then he leapt out of Aziraphale's arms in a sudden rage. "Was it from your discorporation? They hurt you? They scarred you?! On top of burning your books?! Who did it, I'll tear them to-"

"Settle down, Crowley," said Aziraphale, and he rested his hands on top of Crowley's fists. When Crowley's hands flexed self-consciously and lowered to the bed, Aziraphale spread his arms invitingly. "It's okay, I'm okay, and I'm right here."

Hesitantly, eyes flickering up constantly to Aziraphale's face for approval or rejection, Crowley crawled back into his angel's arms. Aziraphale waited until he seemed settled, then hugged him close, reveling in the pleasant press of Crowley's body and aura against his. The little trembles of anger and fear running through Crowley faded away as Aziraphale's natural heat soaked into his body again and his unmistakable scent filled Crowley's senses.

"Strictly speaking," said Aziraphale in a way that immediately told Crowley that he was glossing over a whole lot of important details, "nobody discorporated me. It's just that my corporation was destroyed when I stepped into a transportation portal without the proper protections."

Crowley groaned. "Why the Heaven did you do that, you idiot? That body of yours is six _thousand_ years old, you know they're not built to take that kind of abuse, and especially not so far past their intended lifespan-"

"Yes, _I know that Crowley_ ," he replied testily. "I didn't get much choice in the matter, as it were. I was very rudely backed into it during a misguided attempt at exorcism by Sergeant Shadwell and-"

"SHADWELL?!" bellowed Crowley. "I'm going to turn him into stroganoff-"

"Calm down dear, it was a well-meaning mistake on his part, and that would certainly be a poor recompense for his help in saving the world."

"His _help?_ " That really set Crowley off. "What bloody help did that horrible little bugger give us beyond _killing your human body_ , which I have worked tirelessly for decades, centuries, millennia, _eons_ to keep in one piece-"

"I said _calm down dear_ ," and there was that edge to his voice that Crowley always respected.

Crowley dropped into a sullen but expectant silence, eyebrow raised as he waited to hear what sort of help the witchfinder had managed to provide. And to be fair, it took Aziraphale several long moments of tracing the day's events in his mind before he could come up with something.

"Well, if he hadn't recruited that young man— Private Pulsifer, I believe— then the humans' missile systems would have almost certainly deployed successfully."

Undeterred, Crowley growled, "If he hadn't gotten you _killed_ and set your bookshop _on fire_ , I could have taken you to Tadfield directly _before_ the M25 went to hell."

"Set my bookshop on fire?" Aziraphale paused. "No, I don't think he did that, not purposely. He's not clever enough for it, to be honest. He really thought he had exorcised me with his finger. If he had burned down my shop afterwards, he would have certainly bragged about it."

"Then why was your shop on fire when I got there?" Crowley was still on edge. "If it wasn't Shadwell, then _who did it?"_

Aziraphale sighed. "I don't know dear, I was discorporated at the time. But I suspect the candles I left behind when contacting Heaven may have had something to do with it." He paused again, then looked at Crowley. "Wait, you said you went to my bookshop and found it on fire? What were you doing there?"

Crowley hissed, looking away before Aziraphale could catch the depth of emotion on his face, he hoped. "I was looking for you, you blessed idiot, what else?"

"Weren't you in Alpha Centauri?" asked Aziraphale gently.

"Changed my mind. Would've been no fun at all." _Without you_ , he added silently, but they both heard it.

"You poor dear," Aziraphale hugged Crowley tightly, settling his cheek on top of Crowley's head. "I'm so sorry Crowley, you must have had a terrible scare."

"Nothing for you to be sorry about," mumbled Crowley against Aziraphale's collarbone as he hugged the angel back tightly. "It's Shadwell who's going to be sorry once I get my hands on him-"

"Crowley, that's certainly not going to fix anything."

"But killing him will make me feel better-"

"You certainly shan't and it certainly wouldn't," said Aziraphale, his tone of voice broaching no argument, then softened his words with an affectionate squeeze. "Anyways, we probably shouldn't spend all night arguing about Sargeant Shadwell, of all people. We still need to 'choose our faces wisely'."

Crowley grumbled in a way that told Aziraphale he wasn't dropping this topic permanently but was doing it now as a personal favor to his favorite angel. Keeping himself and Aziraphale alive was definitely number one in Crowley's priorities, so he tried to forget about the slimy little bastard.

"Right, trading faces, bodies, halos, yeah. Wait, so then how did you get your scar? If it wasn't when you got discorporated?"

"Oh, that old thing? I've had it… well, almost forever!"

Crowley's eyebrows raised again, very impressed. "Angel, you actually got injured in the First War?"

With a deep sigh, Aziraphale said, "Yes, and that's why they ended up issuing me the flaming sword, I suppose." He rolled his eyes at the thought. "And the platoon."

Crowley's head swayed subtly from side to side in a way Aziraphale knew meant a temptation. "Well? Aren't you going to show me your angel mark then?"

Aziraphale sniffed, but in a playful way. "Only if you promise to behave."

"You know I won't, angel." Crowley licked his lips in such an exaggeratedly seductive way that Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh in delight.

"There’s no need to tempt me like that, foul fiend!" Aziraphale said with overt fondness in his tone. He shifted aside the sheets to expose his legs, and Crowley obligingly moved to sit at Aziraphale's side to get a better look.

Aziraphale rolled up his left trouser leg, then rolled down his dress sock until he revealed a thin strip of shining gold cut midway up the side of his calf. Something had sliced into the meat of his leg there, and then Someone had filled the injury with gold.

Crowley studied the mark with interest, tilting his head this way and that to see how the gold caught the light. "Does it hurt?"

"Not when I'm in a body on Earth. It really only bothers me when I'm discorporated and in Heaven, it seems. Today was the only time I really thought about this scar in a very long time."

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with his glowing yellow eyes, his head swaying temptingly again. "May I touch it?"

Holding hands with Crowley was a new experience, so just the thought of Crowley touching a part of him that hadn't been seen in millennia was sending a shiver down Aziraphale's spine. He was a little apprehensive, but also instinctively knew that Crowley would stop touching him at the slightest sign of his discomfort, and that made all the difference.

"Go ahead," said Aziraphale with an inviting little shimmy.

Crowley turned his gaze back to the golden scar, lifting a hand and settling it reverently onto the crescent of gold. He looked up at Aziraphale to make sure this was okay, and when Aziraphale nodded his approval, he brushed his fingers over the metal. It was perfectly smooth, and when Crowley's fingers drifted onto Aziraphale's skin, the difference in texture and warmth was immediately obvious. He traced the path of the scar around the side of Aziraphale's marvellously thick calf, and affectionately stroked the living skin on either side of it.

"Tell me how you got this scar, angel."

Aziraphale's eyes had slipped shut in pleasure at the caresses, and he blinked them slowly back open at Crowley's question.

"Well, I'm sure you remember the War in Heaven."

"'Course I do. Though it was about as much as a war as a primary school brawl over the best crayon box." Crowley rolled his eyes. "Completely embarrassing, if you ask me."

"I'm inclined to agree. It couldn't be helped though, War hadn't been invented yet and it was the first fight in Creation." He shrugged. "It only stands to reason that no one really knew what they were doing yet."

"Which makes _this_ all the more impressive," said Crowley as he kept stroking his fingers reverently over Aziraphale's skin and scar. "Tell me, angel," and there was that seductive little sway again, "how did this happen?"

Flustered, Aziraphale tried hemming and hawing, and insisting that it wasn't such an interesting story _really_ , but Crowley just watched him with a patient little smile, perfectly content to watch Aziraphale blush and backtrack while he kept up his affectionate touches, never straying far from the gold mark.

After a few moments, Aziraphale gave in with a big sigh and Crowley's smile curled into a big and delighted grin.

"You stop that, there’s no need for any further tempting, serpent. Promise not to laugh?"

"I'll do no such thing," said Crowley, still grinning from ear to ear, "but I'll make up for it by telling you a secret afterwards."

"A secret?" Aziraphale was thoroughly intrigued. "I intend to hold you to that promise, Crowley. I’m thoroughly intrigued."

"For now you can just hold me to your body, and get on with the story." Crowley lifted his arms in a playful manner, but Aziraphale saw the plausible deniability in it and recognized that Crowley was just as uncertain as Aziraphale was about physical touch as a new facet of their relationship

Aziraphale made sure to assuage his fear by enthusiastically sweeping his beloved demon into his arms and hugging him tightly to himself. Crowley melted quickly in his embrace, settling onto Aziraphale's lap and tucking his head under Aziraphale's, hidden in the sweep of his wings. The angel kept one arm wrapped securely around Crowley's waist, then rested the palm of his free hand on Crowley's back, right between his shoulder blades, over the root of his wings. Warmth soaked into Crowley again, and he sighed in delight. He could certainly get used to this.

Aziraphale's soft voice telling him a story only improved the experience.

"I'm sure you know better than I do _why_ there was a rebellion in Heaven in the first place. There were differences of opinion, certainly. I don't really think it was necessary to fight about it. But you know how it went, everybody was just arguing at first. It was the new normal, almost, and then someone hit someone else, and it all went sideways."

"I heard Micheal was the first to start it," said Crowley, nuzzling at Aziraphale's collarbone.

"Well, that's certainly what he'd like us to think." Aziraphale rolled his eyes, then smiled down at Crowley. "I can't confirm it either way. I wasn't in the middle of it, not at first. Actually, I'll admit that I was on the other side of Heaven, taking a little peek at the Eden project files."

"Trying to figure out which things were edible, I'm sure," Crowley snickered.

Aziraphale gave the top of Crowley’s head an unimpressed look, then grinned. "But Crowley, surely you know the most delectable thing in the Garden was you?"

Crowley immediately flushed and sputtered and made outraged gestures around Aziraphale while the angel just laughed at him, very smug.

"In any case, dear, when I heard the ruckus, I went to find out what was going on at once. So I took one of the scooters…"

"You _what?!"_ whooped Crowley.

"I took one of the scooters. Don't look at me like that! I was all the way on the other side of Heaven, and it's a very large space, and who knew how long this new happening was going to last? And in those days we didn't have the hoverboards yet, those are fairly recent. And I certainly wasn't going to take a skateboard, those things have always been death traps."

Crowley shook his head in awe. "Angel, I didn't know you had it in you. You rode a scooter into battle? That is delightful."

"Just wait," said Aziraphale grimly. "It gets more embarrassing."

"Oh, I love this story more by the minute!"

"Do kindly shut up, dearest. Anyways, so I'm scooting as fast as I can across Heaven, and as I approach the fracas, I see that everyone is _hitting each other!_ Very shocking and frightening at the time, though in hindsight, it was all very ridiculous. Weapons hadn't been invented yet, and fighting hadn't really either, so mostly everyone is just shoving each other, with the most violent-minded experimenting with smacking others with their limbs."

"I saw Michael laying waste to everyone with a ruler. He figured out warfare pretty quickly, he did." Crowley closed his eyes as he remembered it. "The Dark Lord claims He was the only one that managed to injure Michael, once he figured out claws. 'Course, by then Michael had made the ruler sharp and invented the sword."

Aziraphale made a face at the memory. "It was truly an absolute nightmare. And so I'm approaching the brawl and seeing all this happening and, again, remember that I had no clue what was going on, so I tried to yell at people to stop this madness."

"And of course, no one listened."

"Of course not. And so I thought to myself: 'Well Aziraphale, you're just going to have to make everyone pay attention, that way when you say to stop fighting, they will!'"

Crowley snickered delightedly.

"And so I tried to get everyone's attention by doing a tail whip."

"A what?"

"A tail whip, Crowley dear, it's when you jump in the air with your scooter and make the bottom part spin all the way around the handle until you can land on it again."

Crowley stared up at him. "A scooter trick, Aziraphale? You arrived at the scene of the First War and decided to do a scooter trick?!"

Defensive, Aziraphale said "It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know, back _before_ time when no one was really sure what was going on yet. So I did the tail whip, and in order to do one of those, you really must get plenty of air-"

"A SCOOTER TRICK!! AIR!!!" Crowley hooted, laughing delightedly at the mental picture of his fussy angel primly attempting a scooter trick while holding the handles with his pinkies out.

"Darling, you are testing my patience," warned Aziraphale. " _So,_ I'm in the air, doing the tail whip, and everyone turns to look because I'm sort of, you know, soaring overhead, and that made me rather nervous. So as I'm on the descending portion of the trick, I'm not paying enough attention in terms of lifting my legs correctly, and the deck of the scooter swings round and strikes my leg. And I yell in pain and misjudge my landing and accidentally crush one of the rebels on my way down. Actually, now that I recall the moment, I think that might have been Hastur-"

"Oh hell, angel, I think I might've seen that bit!" Crowley was still snickering in delight. "Just for a moment while you fell back down among the crowds. _Marvelous hair_ , I remember thinking."

Aziraphale sniffed haughtily. "Thank you, but I'm certainly glad you didn't see all of my performance back then, because I suspect you would have never let me live it down."

"Obviously," Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly and gave Crowley another squeeze for the pleasure of it.

"And there you have it. The origin of my scar. Everybody just saw me in the air and then discovered that I had knocked out an enemy, so there was such a kerfuffle. Did you know that after the rebel angels got kicked out of the office, there was a big awards ceremony? The Metatron made an announcement, everyone who was injured got a big promotion — could you imagine me as a Cherubim?! I said 'no thank you' and no one could argue about that because it's humility isn't it? — and all the injuries were filled in with gold. Not ideal, I felt it was a little tacky. A little bit tragic. The War wasn't something to celebrate, I thought."

Aziraphale sighed. "But after that, the War was all anyone would talk about. There was constant preparation for the Next War. Weapons, uniforms, training, reconnaissance. I mean, I did like the sword-fighting, that was quite fun. Fencing is such a lovely sport. And I did train some of the others. But then the Earth project really started ramping up and so did the war efforts. They had these truly ghastly simulacra of demons that could feel pain and fear, and we were supposed to start training by fighting those. Truly awful. Luckily, my skill with a sword earned me that spot guarding Eden, and so I had leave to skip the meetings and the training while on assignment. And to be completely honest, Crowley, I haven't missed it one bit."

"Hmm," said Crowley. "Can't blame you. Heaven's always been a bit bollocks, so I'm not surprised it went pear-shaped after the War. And explains why you gave your sword away at the first opportunity."

"I _wish_ it had gone pear-shaped. Might've been sweeter that way," mumbled Aziraphale rebelliously. "And you know that the humans needed it more than I did, at the moment." He sighed, then frowned. "Wait, Crowley. Did you get thrown out of Heaven with everyone else? I didn't stick around, but I don't remember seeing you getting stuffed in the cancellation chute."

"Good question, angel." Crowley looped his arms around Aziraphale's neck and rested his cheek against his angel's. "No, I didn't get thrown out from Heaven, not really. I had a lot of questions, yeah, but I didn't actively participate in the First War. Mostly I just heckled everyone from the sidelines."

Aziraphale snickered. "That certainly sounds like a serpent I know."

"I wasn't about to get my teeth punched out like Sandalphon, not without good reason, that's for sure." Crowley shuddered at the mental picture. "Could you imagine? Giant gold fangs, probably ones you couldn't even retract so you end up looking like that… that vampire seal animal. The whotsis?"

"A morse?"

"No angel, they don't call it that any more, they haven't in _ages_."

"But you _are_ talking about the morse?"

"Well, yes, yes I am." Crowley waved away the thought. "Anyways, I stayed well away from the action, and when they started shoving people down the chute, I thought to myself: _wait, where are they being sent to?_

"So I sidled up to one of the angels near the chute, but not too close, y'know, since I wasn't sure I wanted to get sent down there myself, right? And I asked, in a different voice so they wouldn't recognize me, I asked: _where are they going?_ And they just said: _down_. So I said back: _down to Earth?_ And they said: _no, just down_. And so I said: _so what's down there?_ But they said: _you were with Lucifer, the one who doesn't shut up with the questions_. So I said: _of course not_ , and left quickly."

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. "That sounds altogether sensible. But then how did you end up downstairs, darling?"

Crowley had to take a minute to digest the word _darling_ before he could continue his story _,_ especially because Aziraphale's hand was now thoughtlessly running up and down Crowley's side. ”Hwnt. Erk. Um… so yes, well, I was still curious about where Lucifer and the others got expelled to. I mean, I already knew about Heaven, and Earth, and space, but it sounded like the guys had ended up somewhere different. Somewhere new. And you know me, I like to know what's what."

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "So you threw _yourself_ down the chute?"

"No! What? Whuh- why in the world would I do that, angel, and get my feathers all banged up?! No no no, that's not my style, not at all. No, I started looking for some other way down, I figured there had to be one. And there was— the stairs."

"The stairs?" Aziraphale looked puzzled. "What stairs? I don't recall any stairs in Heaven, not before the Restructuring. Er, you were out of the office by then, but that was when they split up the departments over several floors and redesigned the penthouse."

"No, there definitely were stairs even back then. You know, the emergency exit. The fire escape. People used to smoke there, right?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," Aziraphale blatantly lied. "Though that does bring up the question of why we had a fire escape at all. Hellfire hadn't been invented yet either. Or regular fire, really."

"Yes! _Yes!_ That was exactly my point on page 65,987 of the Form 46B: Request for Information! Which they never bloody well fulfilled, the bastards, three to five business eras my arse." Crowley fumed for a moment, but he was too cozy to stay mad. "So I went down the stairs and it turns out there was something below us, lots of somethings, actually."

"Really?" said Aziraphale, fascinated.

"Yes, really. I sauntered down the stairs, you know, opening each door at the landings, and saw Purgatory, Limbo, Sheol, Aaru, all of them. Except there weren't any human souls there yet, obviously, so I didn't realize that was what they were at the time. They were just empty-like, so I kept going, kept looking for where Lucifer and the gang ended up. But there's a point where there aren't any more stairs, and the next floor down is _massive_ – and I'm saying that as an ex-astro-architect, so I know big – and all it's got is an endless pool of burning sulfur at the bottom of a million foot drop."

"Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. “I hadn't realized that the lake of sulfur was in our actual building."

"Yes, it's in there alright, you've passed it every time you've visited the office. The escalators take you up and over it, when you're going to heaven. And when I visit hell, the escalators take me under it." Crowley paused. "Good thing too, I don't fancy having to commute through brimstone lakes. Barely a passable swimmer, me."

"So Hell's offices are under the sulfur pool?"

"Yup." Crowley popped the P. "The pool's held up by the ceiling, but it still leaks. Makes it stink of brimstone in there, but not enough to cover up the stench of Hastur, unfortunately."

"Wait," Aziraphale's eyebrows drew together. "You just jumped right in the lake of brimstone, Crowley?"

"Well…” he fidgeted. “Yes. I didn't realize it was going to _hurt_. And I wanted to see where the others had gone. So I did, and after a pretty awful swim, I dropped out the other end and finally found them all. Hardly recognized them, they'd all gotten pretty banged up from the War and the Fall. Luckily, no one noticed I was late because they were all busy weeping and wailing and gnashing their teeth. All this blubbering because they lost the War, and they never shut up about it ever again."

"Ahh…" Aziraphale mulled over the story for a while, then held Crowley closer, trying to transmit as much comfort as possible. "Thank you for telling me, Crowley. I've always been curious, but… Well, naturally I imagined the Fall was a bit of a sore subject for you."

"It's nothing angel, I don't mind telling _you_." He hesitated. "Actually, I've wondered whether I should have told you about it earlier… Y'know… in case you were worried it might happen to you. So you would at least know that it wasn't _that_ bad, after all. For the most part. Especially if you can stay away from the office, like I have."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, his gaze full of surprise and love at the thought of his demon baring his trauma to help ease his fears. "Oh Crowley… My dear, truly you are the loveliest creature She has ever wrought, and I am so thankful to have you in my arms right now."

"Am not," muttered Crowley.

"Mmm," hummed Aziraphale affectionately when Crowley fought back with a fond squeeze. "Well then, what's the secret, dear?"

"What secret?"

"The one you promised to tell me about earlier, remember? In exchange for telling you about my scar."

"Ah yes, _that_ secret." Crowley sat up a little straighter, grinning as he watched Aziraphale's face for his reaction. "Oh, you'll like this, angel. I'm betting that wanker Gabriel got an award at the big ceremony after the War, right?"

"That's right, he was one of the angels on stage," said Aziraphale thoughtfully.

"But I bet you didn't see what injury he had. Nor did he say, did he?"

"Hmm, right again. I've never seen the mark, even back then when we only wore those loincloth things." Aziraphale frowned. "Which were quite pointless anyways, weren't they, now that I think of it?"

"Exactly! _Exactly!”_ Crowley said. “That was one of my questions too, it was. What was the blasted point of the loincloths? Genitals hadn't even been invented yet! And it wasn't like you lot ever have them on by default, anyways. Which is quite lucky for Gabriel actually, because he ran into Beelzebub during the War and ze got him right in the crotch with a pencil several times, where he wouldn't get to show off the scars! Ze _still_ doesn't shut up about it."

"Oh," said Aziraphale.

"Oh!" exclaimed Aziraphale. " _I knew it!_ Or, well, I _should have_ known it! Gabriel always tried to play off the long clothes covering his whole body as _humility_ since then, as if he didn't want to brag about the epic injuries he sustained during the War. But Gabriel doesn't have a single humble feather in his wings, he never has and I'm quite sure he never will."

Crowley snickered, delighted at Aziraphale's umbrage. "Oh, that Gabriel's truly an innovator. He figured out how to be a wanker before any of the equipment came in."

Aziraphale burst into surprised chuckling, and Crowley's mouth hung open in a silly, lovestruck smile. His yellow eyes traced along the curve of his angel's cheek and the shape of his lips as he shook with mirth. After several moments, Aziraphale calmed down again, wiping a tear off laughter from his eye and noticing Crowley's besotted expression.

"Oh, dearest, you are such a treasure." He leaned forward to press a soft kiss onto Crowley's forehead, enjoying his demon's unconscious little noise of wonder and delight. They had traded little kisses like this before, when it had been the done thing among business partners and friends. Aziraphale was very disappointed when the customs fell out of style, but here and now, no one was going to judge them for outdated customs. So he treated Crowley to several more gentle kisses onto his face, and Crowley's helpless murmurs of bliss made courage stir up in Aziraphale's heart. 

He wrapped his arms around Crowley's slim waist, holding him securely close and asking, "What's the other secret, Crowley?"

"Other secret?" The way Crowley swayed a little told Aziraphale that he was hoping to tempt him into giving out a few more kisses.

"Well, if you said ' _that_ secret' earlier, then there must be others."

Crowley blinked in surprise, then grinned, amused. "Isn't that greedy of you, to ask for another secret without being offered it?"

Aziraphale was very smug. "You do like it when I'm a little bit naughty, dear."

"I _do_ ," Crowley admitted.

"So go on," coaxed Aziraphale. "Tell me another secret."

"Just like that?" Crowley scoffed, waving away the idea. "You know I can't do that angel. That's generous, that is. Charity, one of your actual virtues."

"Oh, but we're on our own side now, aren't we dearest?"

"You are such a manipulative bastard," groaned Crowley, voice full of admiration. "But you know me, it's got to be a deal with the devil. Well, not with The Devil, but A devil, you know. One that's no longer affiliated with The Devil, perhaps, but still appreciates a good Occult Contract."

"Is that so?" Aziraphale asked, amused. "What are your terms then, you handsome unaffiliated devil, you?"

Crowley's cheeks grew hot at the teasing because he could hear the sincerity behind it. After a few attempts, he managed to say, with a suave tone only slightly strangled by nerves, "A secret for a secret? That's much fairer than the usual deals. As a little treat for you. Since we're on our own side."

"You drive a hard bargain, Crowley. I'll accept those terms." Aziraphale smiled, endlessly fond as he settled one of his hands onto Crowley's cheek. "And I'll do you one better. I'll give you my secret first. In fact, I'm going to whisper it into your ear right now…"

Crowley stumbled over an alphabet's worth of consonants. "Ngk?!"

Aziraphale leaned in close, his hand holding Crowley still as his lips hovered just by Crowley's ear. The demon froze as Aziraphale's warm breath puffed against his skin, bespelled and terrified of breaking the enchantment.

With a sigh, Aziraphale murmured, "I've been in love with you ever so long now, Crowley, and I know you love me just as much, even if I can't sense it in the air like I can with the humans."

Crowley's mouth opened and shut several times, with little choked sounds that in no way resembled language. Finally, he sat back and pointed accusingly at Aziraphale. "You terrible bastard, you didn't even let me confess properly or anything, Aziraphale, I can't believe you've done this!!"

Aziraphale only laughed, shimmying in a very pleased way. "Well, there's no reason to hide it any longer! And besides, the world went and almost ended and I find myself still trying to come up with excuses to hold you close, to express my affection for you, but to keep it discreet enough for plausible deniability. And we shouldn't have to, not any more."

He softened, looking at Crowley with all the naked love in his face. "I'd like so very much to touch your hair, love. If you wouldn't mind it. I wouldn't want to do anything uncomfortable for you, but-"

"Pwrk," croaked Crowley, and then he tried again. "Angel, you can do anything you like, you always can-"

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, his voice half warning and all love. "You wouldn't want to do anything to me that I don't enjoy— well, considering how you drive, nothing I would ever find worse than simply _irritating_ — and I love you the same way."

Crowley had to process this for several moments, then he nodded slowly. "That's alright then. But angel, you have no blessed clue how much I would like for you to touch my hair, I've dreamt of it ever since I learned to sleep! So if you don't touch my hair right this moment, I will _make a scene-_ "

Laughing, Aziraphale started by turning to face Crowley and settling a hand on his jaw, brushing his thumb over the edge of his lovely cheekbone. Then his fingers were curling up and around the back of Crowley's ear and slipping into the short crop of dark red hair above his neck.

"Oh Crowley," he sighed, manicured fingernails grazing ever so gently over his demon's scalp. "I've wanted to do this since Eden."

Crowley's mouth hung open, and he tried to say something, anything, but all that escaped him was a hissing sigh as he slumped against Aziraphale, every scrap of tension fleeing his body.

"Oh," breathed Aziraphale with a delighted little chuckle. "You _did_ like that."

It took several moments, but Crowley hissed a soft "yessssssss", and after another breath "bassssssssstard".

Aziraphale grinned, elated. He toyed with the shorter fuzz just above Crowley's neck first, marveling at how pleasant it felt against his skin and how sensitive Crowley seemed to be there. Then his fingers made excursions upwards, delving into the longer, thicker hair closer to the crown of his head. It was luxuriously soft, and Aziraphale combed through it gently, very much enjoying Crowley's little shivers of pleasure at each light tug.

He saved Crowley's quiff for last, and soon discovered that combing the pouf of hair back made Crowley instinctively lift his face towards Aziraphale's with a quiet little moan. His demon's eyes were half-lidded and all yellow with bliss, his pupils almost entirely dilated. Aziraphale couldn't help it, he pressed a soft kiss on Crowley's forehead, then another on Crowley's cheek, and a third onto the snake curled next to his ear.

Crowley swayed, thoroughly enchanted. Aziraphale grinned indulgently and waited for him to process the kisses at his own pace, enjoying the way he could see each emotion ripple through Crowley's face without his sunglasses blocking the view. First there was the dumb bliss, then confusion, then surprise, then delight, and a long stop at shy joy before arriving at glee.

"That was a terrible decision, angel," he crowed, sitting up straight and thumping a finger victoriously against Aziraphale's chest. "You said you love me _and_ you kissed me, so you'll never be rid of me now! And, and, _and_ I won't take you seriously any more! You can bitch about my driving and my clothes and my music and my wiles all you want, but underneath it all, you _love_ me!"

Aziraphale tried to pretend to be annoyed, but joy was beaming out of him intensely enough that he accidentally lit up the room a few hundred lumen.

"That's very well, Crowley dear, but remember, no matter how cool, modern and sexy you make yourself, you're in love with the fussiest, most boring, and dustiest-"

"Watch it," Crowley warned. "That's _my angel_ you're talking about. And he's the most perfect man-shaped being I've ever met."

Aziraphale flushed a bright red. "Oh! Oh Crowley."

He pressed a big and soppy kiss onto Crowley's cheek, and that made him wrinkle his nose in the cutest manner. Naturally, this was punished with more tender little kisses onto his face, and Crowley sighed, unable to keep up his demonic posturing when Aziraphale's lips were so soft and warm against his skin.

"Wait a minute, angel… You think I'm sexy?"

"The sexiest," Aziraphale sighed. "You've changed your look so many times and you're still the sexiest… even when your fashion choices are simply appalling. I don't know how you do it, Crowley!"

Crowley let that soak in for a minute, a big smile across his lips as Aziraphale kept running his fingers through his hair. "Oh angel…" he smirked. "You'll need to figure it out soon, won't you? If we're to be switching faces tonight."

"Ah yes, how could I forget already? You are much too distracting, dear!" He pressed a kiss right between Crowley's lovely yellow eyes, then started to sit up straight. "I suspect it will be very disorienting to try swapping with so much of our bodies pressed together."

Crowley groaned. "Aaaangel…! I just got to hold you for the first time ever! _It's been six thousand years!"_

"Yes, love," he agreed patiently, "and if all goes right, I'm hoping for at least six thousand more."

He didn't have to mention the other possibility. Crowley sighed, pressed a gentle kiss of his own onto Aziraphale's cheek, then sat up reluctantly. Aziraphale lifted his hand to where Crowley's kiss had landed, eyes bright and a wobbly smile of delight on his face.

"Oh, you old sap," groused Crowley, but he lifted Aziraphale's other hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "There will be more where that came from. Though maybe not while you're wearing my face. Vanity is a great sin, one of the worst, highly commendable, but it's really not my scene to, you know-"

Aziraphale laughed. "That's certainly fair. Now come on dear, let's do this properly. Up on our feet."

It took a lot of effort to peel himself off Aziraphale's gloriously warm and plush body, but Crowley managed it with a minimum of groaning. He stood and stretched until all of the segments of his spine cracked satisfyingly. Aziraphale watched with great interest and counted seventy-two distinct pops, which explained a lot.

"So how do we do this, angel?" Crowley eyed Aziraphale's body speculatively.

The way Aziraphale blushed showed that he knew the real reason why Crowley was looking at him that way. "Crowley! Honestly, dear, focus!"

Crowley shrugged in a way that was deeply unapologetic. Still a little flushed, Aziraphale took one of Crowley's hands in his own, and tried to ignore how good it felt to be able to hold it. "The best way to go about this, I feel, would be for both of us to send our essences down our arms, and then into the other's body."

"And the halos?"

"Ah yes!" He thanked Crowley with a kiss onto the back of his palm, and Crowley sighed blissfully. "Actually, I did a few experiments while you were asleep. I found it very difficult to move my essence without taking my halo with me, as it were. It might be easiest to trade halos first, just to get a sense of where our powers end and our essences begin. Then we'll be able to swap only our essences."

The thought of having Aziraphale's halo on him was sure making Crowley feel some kind of way. "Err… Do we really need to _trade_ halos? Couldn't we just, dunno, put them on the floor for a minute?"

"I'm _not_ putting my halo on the _floor_ , Crowley," said Aziraphale immediately, outraged.

"Doesn't have to be on the floor, could be the night table."

"Absolutely not.” said Aziraphale. He pulled the heavy gold signet ring from his pinky finger and held it out for Crowley to see. “Here you go, dearest. But please do remove your halo before putting on mine. I'm not sure what would happen if either of us wore two halos simultaneously."

"Oh. Oh! Angel, this was your halo all this time? I'd wondered…" Then the thought of wearing Aziraphale's ring, his _halo_ , actually hit Crowley properly, and he had to sit back and take a breather, despite not actually needing any oxygen at all.

Aziraphale watched him curiously for a moment. "What is it, dear?"

Crowley's mouth opened and shut, and noises came out, but nothing intelligible. He resorted to some highly energetic but equally inexplicable sign language.

"Ah, I see,” said Aziraphale with an amused little smile. "You would like to wear my halo as a little crown in snake form."

"No!" Crowley sputtered, "I'm just saying that it will be a little weird to wear an angel's halo again, especially _yours!"_ Then he spotted the angel’s smug grin, which meant that Aziraphale’s words had been outrageous on purpose to startle Crowley into expressing himself properly. "Oh, you bastard, you got me."

Aziraphale laughed. "Au contraire, dearest, I think my ring would suit you very well." The twinkle in his eye almost discorporated Crowley on sight. "And I think I will look very dashing indeed wearing your halo. Though not as dashing as you, of course."

Crowley flushed and averted his eyes as he tried to quell his stampeding heart, until Aziraphale leaned in and pressed his forehead against Crowley's. It was such a simple thing, a square centimetre of contact, but Crowley could feel himself calming down at the touch.

It was something he should thank Aziraphale for, but old habits die hard. Instead, he lifted his pointer finger to his temple, where his snake mark was ever coiled. A spark, and then the serpent started to move, slithering in place before starting to follow the trail of Crowley's finger. He lifted it off his skin, and led it along the air towards Aziraphale. The angel offered his cheek, and Crowley touched his finger to it, the serpent following until it was curled elegantly just in front of Aziraphale's ear.

"Is that all right?" Crowley searched Aziraphale's eyes for any hints of pain or discomfort, but Aziraphale only held a hand up to the mark and smiled, awash with wonder.

Then Aziraphale was taking Crowley's hand and carefully slipping his signet ring onto Crowley's pinky finger. "Next time I put a ring on you, dear, I assure you it will not be placed on _this_ finger."

Despite the grounding effect of Aziraphale's warm touch, the promise behind those words had Crowley tearing up. " _Aziraphale_ ," he choked out, half a groan, half a sob.

"Oops," said Aziraphale, not sounding very sorry at all. He cradled Crowley's face in his hands and carefully wiped away his tears with his thumbs. But Aziraphale couldn't stop his own tears from gathering in his eyes, and Crowley immediately wrapped his black wings around his angel at the sight of it.

"You're not allowed to cry," croaked Crowley as he hugged Aziraphale as closely as possible.

Aziraphale's watery smile against his collarbone was strong enough for Crowley to feel through his clothes. "Oh, Crowley, dear. I _do_ love you. More than anything."

Crowley was still sniffling, though his lips were turned up in a little smile too. "More than crêpes?"

"You are a terrible serpent, doubting me." Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss onto Crowley's jaw. "Love you slightly more than crêpes."

"How about your Wilde first editions?"

Aziraphale marveled at the leading edge of Crowley's wing and the iridescent lustre of his feathers. "Such gorgeous feathers, darling!"

"Ydt! Rwp. Don't try changing the ssssubject, angel."

"Too late," said Aziraphale, giving Crowley a hearty squeeze and affectionately brushing his wings over Crowley's. "It's changed. Now, how do you feel in my halo? I haven't noticed any ill effects on my part."

Crowley hid his face against Aziraphale's shoulder, flustered by the compliments and the touches and the warm comfort of Aziraphale's ring on his finger. "Feelsss ni- Er. Doessssn't feel bad at all," Crowley admitted.

"That's good. Good to know," Aziraphale amended, for his demon's sake. "Do you find it easier now to distinguish the edges of your essence?"

"Let's see," said Crowley, but he took several moments to simply enjoy Aziraphale's embrace before making any attempts to measure himself. "Hmm, yes, I can feel it now. How about you?"

Aziraphale pressed a little kiss onto Crowley's hair. "Yes, so I believe we're ready for our first attempt at 'choosing our faces wisely'."

"Okay. Let's do it. Er. Let's switch bodies, yeah?" Now Crowley was looking up at him, and did he really have to look so cute while they were trying something both tricky and imperative that they get right?

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and they both did their best to calm their very fast and totally unnecessary heartbeats for a couple of minutes.

"We'll need to switch our halos back first, love. And it may help to put our wings away too."

Crowley's nose scrunched in displeasure at the thought of taking Aziraphale's ring off and losing the comforting embrace of his wings. "Do we _really?"_

Aziraphale sighed at Crowley's sulky expression. "We do, and believe me, I'd like to stay like this a little longer too. But time _is_ of the essence, Crowley."

But neither of them wanted to be the first to remove their partner's halo, so they pouted at each other for several moments until Crowley sighed and gave in. He pulled Aziraphale's ring off his finger with great reluctance. Aziraphale thanked him with a soft kiss on the lips that almost made the trade worth it, and Crowley hardly even noticed the little snake slithering back onto his skin.

He swayed for several moments, hypnotized, then managed to gather his wits enough to kiss the ring with all the reverence in his soul, take Aziraphale's hand in his, and slip the ring back onto his finger. Then he looked up at Aziraphale again, helpless, and the angel answered his silent prayer with another soft kiss onto the snake at his temple. Crowley moaned quietly, hands curling around the lapel of Aziraphale's jacket and hanging on desperately. Aziraphale's wings wrapped more tightly around him, his feathers messy but marvellously downy.

They traded several kisses between affectionate nuzzles and a few very undignified and breathless giggles. Then their eyes met properly and they saw so much love in each other's eyes that they couldn't help but hide their faces against each other's shoulder. Crowley pressed a few worshipful kisses onto Aziraphale's neck, and Aziraphale squeezed him closer.

But time continued to flow around them, so they couldn't enjoy the moment for too long.

"We should probably sit up and actually try switching essences now," said Aziraphale, disappointment shining through his voice at the thought of letting go of his demon. "But we'll still hold hands, as the single point of contact."

Crowley looked equally disgruntled at the idea, but sat up again with a sigh. They both moved to the edge of the bed by mutual unspoken accord, because to remain together on the part of the bed they had warmed would have been too wonderful a distraction. Crowley snapped his pyjamas back into his usual outfit and Aziraphale put his shoes back on. Their wings folded shut and their hands crept towards each other. They were surprised to notice that holding hands was almost as steadying as their earlier embrace.

They both closed their eyes.

Aziraphale found the core of himself, the heart and hearth that had first sprung into existence at Her Word. It was a little tricky to separate his essence from the corporation it had been housed in for so long – to free his wings and rekindle his fire and shrug off all the physical bits of himself until there was only _him_ left.

It was terrifying, to be in the physical plane without a body, unable to sense the world around him. Or rather, it was terrifying, until Crowley popped up, somewhere nearby.

 _Crowley_ , sighed Aziraphale's soul, and he rushed towards that familiar presence.

 _Aziraphale!_ answered Crowley's soul, and soon the cool rush of it was curling around Aziraphale's core, and they were both awash with love as they collided.

They spent a little time like that, pressed together but constantly in motion, binary stars almost at the end of their cosmic dance. But there was a mission at hand, and eventually they remembered it. Crowley reluctantly uncoiled and followed Aziraphale's fiery trail back into his body, and Aziraphale followed the star-studded path into Crowley's.

It had been a very long time since Aziraphale had entered his corporation for the first time, but settling into Crowley's body was markedly different. It was strangely _safe_ , as if Crowley's corporation had somehow known this day would come and had built up a refuge, just for him. Aziraphale opened his eyes – or rather Crowley's, which was going to take some getting used to. The world looked a little different now, some of it much sharper focus than the rest. And the hand he was holding now was toasty warm rather than pleasantly cool, as Crowley's had been.

He looked up into Crowley's face – well, _his own_ face, with Crowley behind it – and was startled to notice that he looked much different than in the mirror. The colors were strange somehow. Was he _missing_ a color? But his corporation also glowed to Crowley's eyes, even though Aziraphale knew it shouldn't have been. Looking down at their joined hands, he saw that the glow was starting to climb up his own hand – Crowley's hand – and startled. It was spreading?? But when he let go of his hand, the coolness felt sudden against his skin, and he realized that he was seeing heat in addition to limited normal colors.

Crowley had been too distracted squinting and staring at their hands until he looked up at the angel in demon's clothing and had a double take.

"Blimey," he said weakly. "My hair… it looks really bloody fantastic."

Aziraphale's hands instinctively shot up to touch his own borrowed hair and it felt different under his touch now than it had under the hands of his usual corporation.

"Oy, don't mess it up!" barked Crowley, and he lifted his hands to fix his hair.

Aziraphale automatically stood up, off the bed, to avoid the move and felt the cement of the floor _directly against the sole of his foot_. He yelped, lifting his foot up in shock, overbalancing, and tumbling backwards. Crowley grabbed for him, trying to stop his fall, but misjudged how much skeleton he had to work with. He ended up toppling onto Aziraphale and the floor with a squawk.

"Good _Lord_ ," swore Aziraphale. The heat and weight of his own body on top of him still wasn't enough to distract from the absolutely wretched feeling of cold stone against his heels. "Oh Crowley, this is absolutely horrid, no wonder your feet were burning in the church if you weren't wearing any blasted _shoes!"_

Crowley was making his best attempts at getting off of Aziraphale and back on his feet, but he could barely coordinate two limbs at the best of times, and Aziraphale's body was not as accustomed to writhing about on the floor. "You've seen me walk around for _six thousand years_ , Aziraphale, and you didn't know those were my _feet?"_

"They look like _shoes!_ Why do they look like shoes?!" He stared at what were currently his own feet in horror.

"You know the humans get tetchy if you're walking around obviously barefoot!" Crowley managed to stand and carefully crouched down to help Aziraphale up. "And besides, I do like to match the latest fashion. But didn't you notice the soles of my feet– err, shoes– were always red?"

"Oh, thank you…" Aziraphale screwed up his face in displeasure at the feeling of the floor against his soles again. "Well, to be honest, I thought it was just your aesthetic, dear, you are so dedicated to it. I simply assumed you bought your shoes from the lastest cordwainers."

"No, no, Prada got it from _me_ , not the other way around, get that right." Crowley crossed his arms indignantly. " _This_ devil doesn't wear Prada, because they stole his look. Which I would generally approve of, as theft, and consumerism, and I _did_ like the movie, but I still don't fancy having all these snooty humans walking in my shoes for a season and then calling them passé. I've been rocking this look for six thousand years, I tell you-"

"Well I certainly can't be walking around barefoot on concrete and grass and floors and all!" Aziraphale sat back down on the bed resolutely. "Get me some socks and proper human shoes at once!"

"Won't that give the game away, angel?"

"It will not. If _I_ didn't know you don't actually wear shoes, then no one does. Now get me those damned socks at once, everyone _does_ know you miracle your clothes."

Crowley looked surprised. "How can they tell?"

"Your personality, dear."

The long-suffering, yet infinitely fond look on Aziraphale's face almost destroyed Crowley. He flushed and mumbled a protest, but finally miracled up a pair of socks and shoes identical to those he had been purportedly wearing.

Aziraphale sighed. "And now, pray tell, how do I change my feet back into actual feet then, so that I may wear the shoes?"

"Er… Y'got me there. Not something I ever tried to do before, not really. S'pose you'd do it, y'know, the same way you usually transmorgi- Er. Transmongr- Hm. Change shape. Whatever."

Aziraphale sniffed, a little offended. "Angels don't do that, we simply manifest a different aspect- oh." He paused. "I shouldn't be doing that any more."

"Doing what, angel?" asked Crowley, gently.

"Pretending we're different. When we're not. Not really." He glanced up at Crowley. "And if I'm being honest, we never were."

Crowley's smile was so soft, that even filtered through Aziraphale's own face it was enough to take his breath away.

After a minute, Crowley nudged him lightly, cheeks pink. "Go on then. You don't like being barefoot, don't you? If you can't fix my feet, I can give it a go."

"Well, I don't like to make a habit of it, because it does a right number to good clothing, but I _am_ familiar with the art of transfiguration. Let me see here…"

Aziraphale closed his eyes to concentrate, and Crowley watched with interest and slight confusion as black and red scales receded, revealing soft pale skin as the sole and heel softened into a more organic shape.

"There we go," said Aziraphale brightly, wiggling his toes. "Two very human feet for my favorite serpent." He switched his attention to the socks and shoes Crowley was still holding out for him. He accepted the long black socks first, wondering if he should request that Crowley make him some garters to go with them, when he stopped and stared at his own feet again.

What had just become pale human feet were now still human-shaped feet, but covered in black scales. Moving his leg confirmed that the soles were crimson again.

Crowley shrugged helplessly. "It's like my eyes, really. Got to focus to keep them more human. But it's alright, see? Still the right shape for wearing socks and shoes."

"I suppose so…" Aziraphale suddenly wondered if his eyes were indeed all yellow at the moment, and hoped desperately that it wouldn't be an issue. "But wait, I don't understand. Why are your feet like a snake when snakes don't even have feet?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, you know how I was cursed to go on my belly and eat dust and all?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Yes, you did complain terribly about it for some time, even though it hardly seems to cause you much actual trouble. Haven’t seen you on your belly except when you’ve fallen asleep somewhere."

"That's because the soles of my human feet are technically parts of my snake belly," Crowley explained, as if that made any sense at all. "S'why they're red, y'see."

Aziraphale blinked at him. "How are your feet actually your belly, Crowley?"

"It's topology," said Crowley.

"Now is hardly the time for math, dear boy."

"Because _topologically_ , a human body and a snake body are exactly the same." Crowley tried to describe geometric objects under continuous deformation with just his borrowed hands and weird facial expressions. "Just a torus really, when you get down to it. Homotopic, right?"

"Crowley, my love," said Aziraphale with infinite patience. "The only homo topic I need to know about now is how it is humanly possible walk in these legs, especially when your feet aren't actually wearing socks and shoes so they are dreadfully chilly."

Crowley groaned. "It's like- like- y'know, slithering. 'Cept you've got two bellies, right? And a very long body to balance on top of them," he said, in a way that was not helpful at all.

"That was not helpful at all." said Aziraphale.

Crowley made a face, then paused as another thought came to him. "Walrus!" He clapped his hands together suddenly and scaring the bejeezus out of Aziraphale. "That's the morse, the modern name. It's a walrus. Goo goo g'joob, et cetera."

"Goo goo? It's hardly time for French now, Crowley."

"S'not _French!"_ started Crowley, about to work himself up into a proper strop, but Aziraphale was out of patience now.

"Crowley dear, I really must insist on the socks now, my feet are terribly uncomfortable!"

"Alright, alright, keep your pants on," groused Crowley as he slid off the bed and almost landed on his ass.

"I most certainly _will_ ," said Aziraphale, scandalized.

Once Crowley managed to arrange Aziraphale's rigid (though marvellously thick) legs so that he could kneel on the floor, he carefully pushed Aziraphale's trouser legs up so he could slip the socks onto Aziraphale's feet.

The warmth and gentle pressure of Crowley's hands were lovely against his scales, and as Crowley drew the fabric up past his ankles, where the scales transitioned to humanoid skin, the softness of his hands became even more apparent. Aziraphale sighed in pleasure, his little wiggle of joy much more sinuous as it traveled through Crowley's highly questionable spine.

Crowley looked up at him and asked, "Is this alright?"

Aziraphale brushed his fingers through Crowley's hair and smiled when Crowley relaxed at the touch even though he was in a borrowed body. "Absolutely perfect. Thank you, dearest."

Crowley's blush was apparent but still less pronounced than his lack of protest at the thanks. He pulled both socks up Aziraphale's legs and slipped the shoes on.

"Good thing there's no laces," he muttered. "Never actually tied those before."

Aziraphale laughed. "Of course you wouldn't! You miracle all your clothes on, silly serpent. If you ever decide you want to wear clothes _properly_ , I can help you lace up."

Crowley's flush deepened. "Fwm. Mkt. Would- would you really?"

And Aziraphale realized the implications of his words and blushed too, but didn't take them back. He simply nodded, an inviting grin on his lips.

Crowley fumbled for vowels, couldn't manage to produce any, and settled for an affectionate grumble as he looked away from Aziraphale's face. Before he set Aziraphale's trousers back to rights, he pressed a shy kiss onto the angel's knee.

A flood of powerful scents hit Aziraphale like a lorry when he gasped, _book-linen-musk-wine-silk-dust-leather-down-moss-stone_ — each a smack of sensation, one after the other.

Then a hand gently pushed his mouth shut and the flood trickled down to a much more manageable stream.

"Careful," said Crowley. "You're almost blind, nose-wise, compared to me. Don't want to taste everything at once."

"Good heavens," said Aziraphale weakly. "Is it really like that for you all the time?"

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, not liking to admit to the animal-like traits that were an eternal reminder that he was neither the angel he used to be or the human he pretended to be. "Er, not _all_ the time, exactly. 's a lot more manageable when you breathe in through your nose only. Skipping the vomeronasal organ, yeah? But I can get a lot of information all at once if I, y'know, use my tongue."

But Aziraphale looked intrigued, not disgusted. "Really, dear boy? Absolutely fascinating…" He carefully tried opening his mouth a little more and taking in a deeper breath, marveling at the wealth of scents pinging in Crowley's internal catalogue. Even sitting a little ways apart, Aziraphale could smell the subtle splash of cologne on his own corporation, and he suddenly had a very good idea why Crowley's mouth tended to hang open just a bit whenever they were dining together or relaxing at the bookshop.

Crowley watched Aziraphale experiment with a helpless grin, glad that his corporation was able to bring a little fun into the experience despite its peculiarities. While Aziraphale's body was difficult to pilot, it was so pleasantly _warm_. Even touching his own chilled corporation with Aziraphale's fingers didn't put the slightest dent in the comfort of it. In fact, the closer he was to Aziraphale, the warmer he felt, along with this lovely little fizz that must be the result of some sort of angelic sense–

"It was excellent that I made the mistake of inhaling so strongly now and not at an inopportune moment. A good omen indeed. And I _must_ try some food before we switch back, I'm certain I'd be able to distinguish even more flavours with this palate." said Aziraphale. "Are there any other tricks I should be aware of, dear?"

"Err, no. Don't think so." Crowley slowly pressed another kiss onto Aziraphale's knee so that he would have plenty of warning this time. Aziraphale shimmied in delight, and Crowley pressed another few kisses onto Aziraphale's other knee before lowering his trouser legs again.

Aziraphale sighed. "I feel much better with some actual shoes on."

"That's terrific," said Crowley sincerely. "But, er, what exactly is the game plan now? Since we've chosen our faces, or whatever."

"Well, I suppose we ought to practice walking. You can hardly walk in the usual circumstances, love, and I'm not sure I'll be able to manage your snake feet very well either."

"That's not what I meant, angel. We both know they're probably not striking tonight, our employers. So what's our game plan for the _rest_ of it? Tomorrow, Monday, next week, next month, next year, next decade?" He lifted his eyes towards Aziraphale for comfort, only to be confronted with his serpentine eyes instead of Aziraphale's stormy grey ones. He lowered his gaze again. "How long d'you think we'll have to stay in each other's bodies?"

Aziraphale sighed. "There's no way to know, is there? But there is a bit of hope in the prophecy for us." He reached into his coat to pull out the burnt scrap of paper, panicked for a second when he couldn't find it, realized that he was wearing Crowley's clothes, and sighed again, in exasperation. "Oh, please excuse me, my dear. I'll just need…"

Crowley was looking at Aziraphale in a way that said he knew exactly what his angel wanted, and that he planned to withhold it for just a bit, to be a tease. And the slight tint of his cheeks spelled out a challenge for Aziraphale, one he couldn't resist.

Aziraphale reached towards Crowley's clothes, then paused. It was strange, a little uncomfortable even, to make moves on what looked and felt like his own body, even if he knew very well that it was his beloved Crowley inside. And the hesitation on Crowley's face told him that he felt the same way.

"Close your eyes," whispered Aziraphale. "Just for a minute."

Crowley shivered at the tone of his voice, then closed his eyes. Aziraphale followed suit, though he found that he could just as easily tell Crowley's general shape and distance with the heat sense. He used it to his advantage, moving closer and resting his hands gently on Crowley's chest. His demon startled a little, then relaxed, leaning in subtly closer.

Aziraphale slid his hands up around Crowley's neck and slowly pressed his cheek against Crowley's. Crowley mumbled something affectionate-sounding as he pressed back, and they nuzzled slowly together, eyes closed as they focused on the pleasant brush of their skin. Crowley pressed several deliberate kisses onto Aziraphale's cheek, and Aziraphale retaliated by covering Crowley's forehead with soft kisses as he toyed with Crowley's coat, focusing on the fact that Crowley was wearing _his_ clothes. He snuck his hands into the coat and carefully drew out the scrap of prophecy and the pair of sunglasses he has been safekeeping in his pocket.

With a few final kisses onto the crook of Crowley's neck, Aziraphale sat back with a sigh. Crowley's eyes stayed shut several moments longer, then he looked at Aziraphale with so much devotion in his expression that Aziraphale had no choice but to wrap him in his wings, even if they were borrowed. Crowley reacted instinctively with a wing-hug of his own, and they snuggled together for a little while longer.

Once the flow of time jogged Aziraphale's memory again, he put on Crowley's sunglasses and looked at the prophecy again.

"Absolutely no idea how you can see out of these things, darling," he said. "Ah, yes. The phrasing says: _for soon enouff ye will be playing with Fyre_. The phrasing certainly suggests that we won't need to wait very long for our respective punishments. And Agnes, while a witch, was still a human, so undoubtedly 'soon' should be under a year. A month at the most, I'd wager."

"Well, that's alright then. I can be you for a month. Except I _will_ sell books to customers-" Crowley paused, and both of them had heartbreak on their faces.

"...Actually, I'll be putting your bookshop to rights," Crowley admitted. "As much as I can. And I'll fill it right back up to the brim with dusty old misprints and first editions, just you watch."

"Oh, Crowley…" Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his demon and hugged him tight. "As much as I loved the bookshop, I need you to know that my greatest treasure is _you_ , my dear."

"But the bookshop was your _home_ ," Crowley sniffled, not making any attempt to hide how Aziraphale's words had made him tear up.

"And it was yours too, we both know that." Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his cheek, eyes equally tear-laden. "But any place I stay at is your home, Crowley, because you are always welcome at my side. And I feel quite at home anywhere I can be with you. The actual location, the roof overhead, the walls— that is immaterial. You're my home, and our side is home."

"S'not immaterial, the building." Crowley hugged Aziraphale back, holding him tightly. "Can't be immaterial or it'd hardly be a building, wouldn't it?"

Aziraphale reached up to comb his fingers through Crowley's hair, wishing it was actually Crowley's hair under his fingers and not his own. "You're prevaricating, love."

"Am not," he protested, but he fell quiet then, taking comfort from Aziraphale's embrace and his gentle touch and his powerful, sturdy body currently housing him. "... Y'know. You know. You know it, I don't have to say it, because you are the cleverest creature I've ever known in all these years on this wretched, lovely excuse for a planet. But I'll say it anyways, because you deserve to hear it. And the truth is…” And Crowley paused for a second to admire that he wasn’t accidentally hissing now that he had Aziraphale’s tongue to speak with. “The truth is. That I don't care how long I have to wear your body or where I'd have to run to hide from our employers or even what shade of blessed tartan I have to wear, but only if it means that I still get to be with you."

Tears spilled out from behind the sunglasses Aziraphale wore and his lower lip wobbled, and Crowley groaned loud and long. "Aziraphaaaale, don't _cry_ , you already bloody knew it anyway, that wasn't any new information…!"

"No," said Aziraphale around a little hiccup of joy. "You're right, I did know it. But it makesss me so happy to hear it, dear boy, I can't expressss how much love and delight I feel in thisss moment, Crowley, but I'm overflowing with it, you _mussst_ know I feel the sssame way about you, love…!"

"Yes, I know," Crowley tried to scoff, but his tears were soaking into Aziraphale's coat.

"Oh Crowley, love, let's ssswitch back again, jussst until morning.” Aziraphale wiped his tears off his cheeks and the glasses with a handkerchief stolen from his own coat, then offered the handkerchief to Crowley. He set the sunglasses on the night table and focused on trying to keep his hisses under control, but Crowley's tongue was as lawless as the rest of him. "We've got a few hoursss left of the night and there's nothing I want more right now than to hold you properly until then."

"Alright," Crowley said, blowing his nose loudly on the handkerchief and catching the utterly besotted look Aziraphale shot at him for it. He flushed, hiding his face against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Alright."

With their bodies pressed so close together and their hearts so attuned, swapping was as easy as a wingbeat this time, but they didn't rush. Despite their lack of skill, they danced. Their essences coiled around each other, edges lapping at each other's shores in a sweet and intimate embrace, then they parted to return into their proper bodies.

They were hardly back in their bodies before they immediately tackled each other with arms and legs and wings until they fell back onto the bed, laughing and tangled and full of joy and hope and love and trust. And with lips stretched out with smiles, they pressed delighted kisses onto each other's face, playfully wrestling and arguing for a chance to kiss first, and bumping their noses together accidentally and on purpose.

And if they quieted down after a while and just stared soppily into each other's eyes until Crowley fell asleep with his eyes open, well… That would be their little secret.

And that was one of the loveliest things about the end of the world. It meant no more secrets dividing them, but one new secret between them that would win them their ultimate freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at https://6000-year-slowburn.tumblr.com/ ! :D


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